


Olympic Tryouts (part 26)

by jennamacaroni



Series: Olympic Tryouts [26]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 17:04:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2740241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennamacaroni/pseuds/jennamacaroni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana and Brittany have been rivals in the college hockey world for the past four years.  now they’re both at Olympic tryouts to play on the same team and Boston and Minnesota just don’t get along, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olympic Tryouts (part 26)

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this part awhile ago and completely forgot to post here on ao3 oops!
> 
> part 26 (which is by the way, my favorite number) is dedicated to tumblr users leigh-kelly and orangeyouglad8 who both celebrated birthdays recently. happy birthday to both of you goons and i’m so lucky and happy to have met you both. if you haven’t already, go read both of their stuff immediately because they’re the best.
> 
> as always, thanks also to all of you for taking the time to read and like and message and reblog and review this story. your words always mean the world to me.

Santana and Brittany spend nearly two hours together on the ice peppering the net with shots before the rink manager shoos them off, complaining that he now has to clean the ice again before peewee practice tonight. Brittany apologizes quickly, promising the man a nice bottle of his favorite scotch the next time she sees him. “Thanks again, Stu!” she calls, waving over her shoulder and smiling brightly as they make their way off the ice and down the tunnel back to the locker room.

“Stu? Really?” Santana cocks an eyebrow but Brittany just grins and shrugs. “You’re not the only one who spends a lot of extra time out there practicing. I think I’ve become quite a pain in ol’ Stu’s side with the amount of times he’s had to resurface the ice after me. Luckily we’re just about best buds now and I know he doesn’t _really_ mind.”

Santana shakes her head in amusement, mumbling “you’re incorrigible” as they plop down in front of their adjacent lockers. As Santana begins to unlace her skates, the gravity of their current situation settles like bricks in the pit of her stomach, sharp corners poking holes in her resolve with every passing second. Brittany’s demeanor seems to have changed as well, and when Santana steals a quick glance, she catches Brittany frowning and toying absently with the lace of her right skate, twirling it around and around her index finger.

“Are we sure about this?” Brittany whispers, keeping her gaze trained to the ground between her feet.

“Hey,” Santana prods, bumping their knees together and getting Brittany to look up. “I have no idea how this is going to go, but,” she pauses, choosing her words carefully. “This is different. You’re different. And the past few days have been-”

“Perfect.” The word leaves Brittany breathily and Santana grabs her fidgety hand and squeezes, silently agreeing.

“It can’t be _that_ bad, right?” Santana tries to make a joke, but it falls flat upon the tension clouding up the room. “Let’s just do it, Britt. Rip off that BandAid.” Brittany nods, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth but allows Santana to pull her to her feet.

They hold hands nearly the entire distance to the entrance of Coach Taylor’s office, Santana squeezing one last time before letting go and knocking on the open door. Coach Taylor looks up at them over the rims of his reading glasses before pausing game film, putting down the yellow legal pad he’d been taking notes on, straightening up in his chair and beckoning them both inside. Brittany shuts the door behind them and follows Santana into the two chairs on the opposite side of the desk, settling on the edge of the seat and pulling her shoulders back high and straight.

“I thought I told you to take the day off,” he says shortly, removing his glasses and setting them upon the desktop. No matter how much Santana has been around Coach Taylor the past two weeks, she still has a nearly impossible time gauging his moods and mannerisms. He’s nearly unreadable.

“We just came in for some extra shooting and skating practice. Actually, Coach, we’re here to talk to you about something else,” Santana starts, glancing quickly to Brittany and back again. “We, um…” She really should have planned better what she wanted to say before coming in here, because all the right the words seem to be floating just out of reach, her train of thought surging forward into empty space.

“We’re dating.” Brittany’s words shoot from her mouth like an arrow and Santana can’t help but stare at Coach Taylor, waiting for the spearing impact. The words seem to multiply and fill up the entire volume of the room, swelling against the walls and pressing hard into Santana’s chest. _We’re dating_.

Coach Taylor doesn’t move a single muscle after the admission, and he also doesn’t break his stare with Santana even though it was Brittany who actually blurted the words. After a few impossibly long moments of absolute silence, Santana opens her mouth to explain, but Coach Taylor raises a hand and points a sharp finger at her and she closes it quickly. He looks as if he’s trying very hard to control himself, an ugly red creeping up his neck and the menacing finger shaking with anger.

“Look, Coach-” Brittany tries, but shuts up just as fast when his wild stare turns on her instead. At this point his entire face is flushed as if he’s stopped breathing completely and Santana thinks she might throw up. Brittany’s leg is bouncing so hard and fast under the table she can feel the vibration through the floor.

“You’re _what_?” he finally manages, quite obviously struggling to keep his voice even keeled and under control.

“We’re-”

“I heard you the first time, Pierce,” he interrupts, shutting her up again and continuing to stare hard at Santana who seems to shrink smaller and smaller with every passing second. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“Well-”

“Just shut up, Lopez. Do you know what a rhetorical question is?”

“Yes, sir,” Santana mumbles, worrying her hands together in her lap but refusing to break eye contact.

The seconds draw out into minutes as he continues to stare, his lips pressed together into a thin line. “How long has this been going on?” he demands.

“Just a few days,” Santana answers, finally stealing a quick glance at Brittany who looks just as worried and small as Santana feels. The defeat looks so foreign on Brittany that it steals the last of Santana’s breath away, yet at the same time ignites a spark of something else entirely deep in her gut. The spark explodes quickly to fire and she straightens up, swallowing flames. “I know-”

“Did I ask you to speak yet, Lopez?” he interrupts.

“No, sir, but you have to let me explain. I-”

“Do you not remember the conversation we had in this very office two weeks ago? The one where I made it very clear my expectations for you and what being on this team meant?”

“Yes, sir, I do. And that hasn’t changed. You told me I had to make nice with Brittany-”

“This is NOT WHAT I HAD IN MIND WHEN I SAID THAT, LOPEZ!” he shouts, finally losing the last shred of composure and running a frustrated hand through his full head of dark hair.

“It wasn’t just her fault, Coach. Don’t just blame her,” Brittany cuts in, defensive.

“Oh don’t worry, Pierce, I certainly haven’t forgotten about _you_. Now you two both listen and you listen hard because I will not say this again. What you do in your free time is your own business, but if I see this, _thing_ ,” he gestures between them, “at all affecting the team negatively in any way don’t think for a second that I’ll hesitate to send you both packing. I don’t care who you are. I’ve got no time for drama and you both better leave this office understanding that. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Coach,” they both affirm.

“You two have already taken years off my life, I hope you realize that.” Some of the anger seems to dissipate as he leans back into his chair and exhales loud and long. “Also you better inform the rest of the team before tomorrow morning’s practice and I better not hear anything else about it, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Coach,” they promise, pushing themselves up and turning to leave the office.

“Hey, Coach?” Brittany asks, pausing at the threshold and looking back inside. She takes a deep and steadying breath as he looks back up at her. “It’s different. Her and I. Special. And it doesn’t change how we play together on the ice. In fact it may make us even better. And don’t think we don’t realize how it might affect the team dynamic and that we haven’t worried about it almost constantly the past few days, because we have. But putting a stop to it would be both impossible and costly to the team. I hope you can trust us to continue to lead this team by example and help in every way we can to bring the gold home where it belongs. We’ve waited and dedicated our whole lives for this and we won’t screw it up.”

Coach blinks at Brittany, studying her carefully before finally nodding once and dismissing them with a grumble of “don’t be late” for tomorrow’s early morning session, even though he knows they’re usually the first two out on the ice every day.

Once they’re out of range from Coach’s office, Santana takes off at a sprint through the rink, slamming through the front doors and into the open air and throwing up on the sidewalk.


End file.
